


the Kit-den Catfe

by sinspiration



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Amazing, Animal Death, But also, Cat Cafés, Cat Puns, Consent, Homophobic Language, I am so sorry, I never expected to have to add those tags, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Tater is a sweetheart, because some people are mean and dumb, continuous consent, that is an actual tag, this film is not yet rated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: Kit-den's Rules:
   At least one drink purchase per purrson  Let the cats come to you  No chasing, tail-pulling, or any other harassment  All children MUST have an adult with them at all times  Outside toys strictly prohibited  and  LET A PURRISTA KNOW IF YOU WANT TO ADOPT US





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly an excuse to make Kent responsible for terrible cat puns.

Tater has not had a good day. Practice was a nightmare, half of them dealing with some sort of injury, three people just getting over a stomach bug that's been going around, and it generally had been a miserable time. And then after, there was volunteer work, Tater going off to a hospital. He liked those the best, putting smiles on kid's faces.

During his visit, one of the little girls, she...

Tater just really needs some comfort right now. 

He doesn't have a pet of his own, because he can't morally justify having one while being on the road all the time, but there are a few shelters in the area who know him, who let him come in to visit, take their dogs on walks, play with the kittens and puppies. But he's just heard of a new place that's opened,  _ Kit-den, _ a cat cafe. Where you can apparently buy coffee and sweets and just... sit in a room with cats and kittens.

It sounds like just what he needs, so he double-checks where it is, that they're still open (for another hour and a half), and then drives over.

The door chimes cheerfully when he comes in, ducking his head just a little out of habit. The first thing he sees is a big chalk sign. It's got pictures of cats all over it, and in the middle,

_ Kit-den's Rules: _

_ At least one drink purchase per purrson _

_ Let the cats come to you _

_ No chasing, tail-pulling, or any other harassment  _

_ All children MUST have an adult with them at all times _

_ Outside toys strictly prohibited _

and

_ LET A PURRISTA KNOW IF YOU WANT TO ADOPT US _

Tater's blinking at the word "purrista" when someone waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hi? You in the right place, buddy?"

"Oh," Tater says, looking down at the small blond man. He's wearing a grey apron with  _ Kit-den _ emblazoned on the front, and a white nametag that reads  _ Kent. _ "Yes. Hello. You have cats?"

Kent raises an eyebrow. "Yeah we do." He walks over to a counter, goes behind it. "What'd you like to drink?"

Tater doesn't really care. He shrugs. "Anything. Here for cats, not drinks."

Kent looks at him, then nods. "Alright, fair. Gimme a sec."

While Kent busies himself with stuff behind the counter, Tater looks around the shop. All the furniture is wooden, though the chairs do have padded seats. The few people there are sitting on the floor, or at low tables dotted around the room. The walls are covered in shelves (many of which have cats on them) and pictures of cats. Each picture has a little description underneath it. He goes over to one.

_ Marmalade _ , is the name for an orange tabby.  _ I'm 2 years old! I love playing and have a lot of energy, but I don't like loud noises! I had a mean owner who declawed me as a kitten :( But I'm good for families with children because I am very gentle! _

"Cinnamon hot chocolate for the giant looking at my adoptables wall!"

Tater startles, but turns around. Kent's grinning at him and pushing forward a mug overflowing with whipped cream.

"Is me?" Tater asks, coming closer. "I'm giant?"

Kent stares up at him, then looks pointedly at the three young women sitting on the floor in a corner of the cafe, each with a cat in their laps.

"Okay, okay," Tater says, reaching for the mug. "How much it is?"

He pays and takes his mug over to a low table, folding himself down. His feet still stick out the other side, but it's comfortable enough. He watches the cats milling around, taking a sip of his drink while he waits for one or two to chance coming up to him.

The drink is warm and good, chocolate and cinnamon, and when he glances over at Kent, he gets a smile and a wave for his trouble. And that's nice too.

Several minutes later he has a white cat with a single black splotch over one eye knocking at his hand with her head, and Tater carefully pets her while she allows the attention. After the white cat, there's a tiny grey kitten who starts batting at his foot, and Tater smiles, wiggling it back and forth while the kitten tries to grab on and gnaw.

It's very relaxing, his drink is good, and he definitely feels better by the time he thinks he should probably get ready to go. When he gets up, he realizes he's the only one left in the little shop.

"Sorry," he says to Kent, who's stacking chairs, moving tables around. He didn't even notice. He feels himself blush. "Not mean to overstay."

Kent shrugs. "I had plenty more to do before I got around to kicking you out. Beside, it kinda looked like you needed the time."

Tater is touched at the kindness of a stranger. "Thank you."

Kent shrugs again. Goes back to what he was doing.

Tater sets his mug in the used bin, and pauses when he passes the counter. There is a tip jar, cheerily decorated, as well as a clear box that says  _ Donations! _ on it. There's a little sign underneath, with the logo of a shelter in the area.  _ "Help us help even more cats! ...and dogs too, we guess." _

He gets out his wallet again, puts something in both, and leaves.

He's just opening the door of his car when he hears running feet. "Hey! Hey giant!"

Tater turns, confused. It's Kent, his blond hair tousling in the wind. "Yes? I'm forget something?"

Kent stares at him. "Yeah! Like  _ two hundred dollars. _ "

Tater frowns. "Is okay? All I bring with me today."

Kent's mouth drops open. "That--you didn't think you were putting in ones by accident or something?"

"Next time I bring more," Tater says easily. And he'll look up the cafe again when he gets home. He's pretty sure he remembers an online donation button that went to food and medical bills for the cats at Kit-den. 

"I--you-- _ what _ ?"

"Yes," he says decisively. Kent had made him feel better. Kent and the cafe. "When I come back."

He leaves Kent goggling on the sidewalk as he drives away, smiling. And making plans to return soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kit-den becomes one of Tater’s regular hangout spots. He isn’t able to go as often as he’d like, what with his schedule and other commitments, but he goes often enough that he’s memorized their hours (closed Mondays and Wednesdays, Tuesday and Thursday from eleven to seven, Fridays eleven to eight, Saturdays and Sundays twelve to eight), he cycles through three regular drinks, and comes to the conclusion that Kent must be the only one who works there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More patater Catfe AU! I hope you guys enjoy.

The Kit-den becomes one of Tater’s regular hangout spots. He isn’t able to go as often as he’d like, what with his schedule and other commitments, but he goes often enough that he’s memorized their hours (closed Mondays and Wednesdays, Tuesday and Thursday from eleven to seven, Fridays eleven to eight, Saturdays and Sundays twelve to eight), he cycles through three regular drinks, and comes to the conclusion that Kent must be the only one who works there.

“Kind of,” Kent says one day, when Tater asks. By now he knows Tater’s name (or nickname, and Kent’s face when Tater had introduced himself had been hilarious), his regular drinks, and he deigns to talk to Tater sometimes, if he’s not busy. “I own and run the place. But I’ve got a couple regular volunteers who come in to help with the cats.”

“Help with cats?”

“Brushing down the longhairs, helping with baths, cleaning up the back room. That sort of stuff.”

“Oh.” Tater hadn’t thought about how much work it must be to run a business and take care of up to twelve animals at once. His respect for Kent grows another notch. “Glad you don’t do by yourself.”

Kent raises an eyebrow. “If I did it all by myself, I would literally never leave this place. And I already live upstairs.”

“You do?”

Kent shrugs. “Had to have the building remodeled, especially the back room. There’s an upstairs apartment, so I just figured it’d be easier. And, you know, I basically roll out of bed, come downstairs, and boom, at work.”

Tater pictures Kent in bed, warm and sleepy, with maybe a cat or two curled up with him, and then very deliberately stops thinking about it. “Oh,” he says again. “Must be very nice.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And then Kent seems done with him, turning away to make his rounds of the small cafe, checking that the cats are happy, that the patrons are being respectful. He’s kind of like a cat himself in some ways; allowing Tater to take up his time and attention, but perfectly happy to move onto something else when his interest wanes.

Tater takes his drink and goes over to what has pretty much become his regular spot. A fluffy maine coon jumps up onto his table and blinks at him, and Tater holds out his hand so that she can scratch herself on his fingers at her leisure.

He still leaves tips and donations in the jars, but he’s learned to do it when Kent is distracted and/or not at the counter. His best bet is when Kent’s gone into the back room for something, or is across the cafe cleaning or checking that things are going okay with the cats.

Really, when Kent is distracted with the cats is the opportune moment for Tater to shove money into the jars and run.

Except, when Kent is distracted by cats, he gets such a soft look, voice gentling, and he actually seems to glow.

And then Tater gets distracted by Kent.

 

—

 

_Calvin and Hobbes_ a new addition to the adoptables wall reads, for two orange and black tabbies that are curled around each other in the picture. _We are very mischievous, so we need an owner who can keep up! We also don’t like being separated, so please only ask about us if you are looking for two cats. We love the snow, so if you have a fenced in yard, let us play outside in the winter!_

“Is interesting names,” Tater tells Kent, when he goes up to the counter to accept his drink. He loves asking Kent about the names of his cats; there’s a story for each one, based on a quirk or personality trait or love for a specific food (Cream Cheese was adopted in two days, a personal record for the cafe), and Kent clearly gets delight in telling them.

This time though, Kent just raises an eyebrow. “Cats who love the snow,” he says. “And look like mini tigers? Inseparable? No?”

Tater’s brow furrows. “Sorry, I’m not understand.” And he usually can, hates it when he doesn’t. It makes him feel stupid, not getting simple jokes. What Kent thinks is obviously a simple joke. So he’s looking stupid in front of Kent. He tries not to glare, because Kent doesn’t deserve it.

Kent blinks at him, and then ducks down behind the counter. He comes up a moment later and holds a book out to Tater. “Here.”

Bemused, Tater takes it and looks down at the cover. “The Essential Calvin and Hobbes,” he reads aloud, slowly to not trip over the words. He looks back up at Kent.

Kent shifts from foot to foot. “They’re comics. Awesome ones. I sometimes read ‘em when it’s slow. The boys,” and he always means his cats when he sounds like that, when he smiles slightly and his voice gets soft, “reminded me of them.” There is a pause. “…Anyway, you can borrow the book if you want.”

“Thank you,” Tater says, trying to put meaning behind it. He hadn’t understood something and Kent had explained. In the best way he knew how. “Will look at it now.”

“Yeah, sure.” And then the door jingles cheerily as a group of high school students come in, and Kent promptly forgets Tater exists.

Tater goes to a table and sits down with the book. Calvin (or Hobbes?) jumps onto his table to join him. He quietly laughs and settles down to read. He gets through nearly the whole thing, the orange cat batting at the pages as he turns them.

When it’s time for him to leave and he returns the book, Kent says, “I’ve got a couple other comic books, if you liked this one.”

“I did, very much!” They had been very clever, yet easy to understand. And Tater gets the joke now, especially about the snow.

“Cool. Just ask me when you want to read one.”

 

—

 

Then he comes in and Kent’s hands are covered in bandaids. He’s got a white gauze bandage on one cheek, and Tater can see more bandaids peeking out from underneath Kent’s rolled up sleeves. “What happened?” he asks, reaching out to touch Kent’s cheek before he realizes what he’s doing and sets his hand on the counter.

Kent shrugs. “I’m trying to rehabilitate a new guy. He probably won’t ever be ready to be _here,_ but if I can get him to calm down around people, then he might have a chance outside of the shelter. He just scratched me up a little bit.”

It looks decidedly more than a “little bit” and the bandage on Kent’s cheek looks dangerously close to his eye. Tater swallows down his concern, accepts his drink, and goes to sit in a corner and pet out his worry.

Kent chases him down again, once he leaves the shop. “Five hundred dollars,” he says in outraged disbelief. “Five _hundred_ dollars. And I didn’t even check the tip jar! Who _are_ you?”

Tater grins. “I’m like cats.” And also you.

Kent stares at him. “If you like cats that much, what are you doing without one? You’d make it the most pampered, spoiled thing this side of the state.”

“Can’t,” Tater says. “Work is very busy. I’m travel a lot. Even if get sitter, have fancy feeder, still not fair to cat.”

“Oh,” Kent says, blinking at him. “I, okay, that’s fair. That’s… you’re doing the right thing, there.”

“Thank you.”

“And, you know, I mean like… it’s not as if I’m about to stop you from coming back. So, yeah. Uh. You can come visit whenever you want. Obviously.”

“Thank you,” Tater says again, grinning. “Will.”

Kent gives him a funny look, but turns and heads back into the cafe. Tater gets into his car and drives away.

Though he sort of wishes he could see the look on Kent’s face when he does check the tip jar.

It might not be solely the cats that Tater is interested in pampering and spoiling.

 

—

 

The next time he comes in and goes up to the counter, Kent pushes a drink and a slice of pie across at him before Tater opens his mouth.

“Pie is new,” Tater says.

Kent shrugs. “A friend makes ‘em for fun. I asked if I could try to sell them here, along with the drinks. I’m a decent barista, but no baker.”

“Thought you were purrista?”

“That too.”

“And still best?”

“You know it.”

“Okay, convince me.” Tater pulls out his wallet.

Kent shakes his head. “On the house.”

“Is okay,” Tater says, bill already in hand, “I’m can pay.”

“Yeah I know you can,” Kent replies, “I’m saying you’re not gonna. You’ve already left enough tips and donations to comp your drinks for literal months. Months. You are getting this for free.”

Tater looks Kent dead in the eye, and drops the twenty into the tip jar.

“I will _ban you._ ”

“But I’m best customer!”

“So be good and go pet some cats,” Kent mutters turning away, clearly done with the conversation.

Grinning to himself, Tater takes his drink and the plate of pie and goes to sit down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hockey’s not my thing,” he says eventually, expression unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More?? MORE.
> 
> Also help it's developing a Plot now.

 “So you like hockey, right?”

Tater turns to Kent, eyes wide, not sure he heard correctly. “What?”

“Hockey. You care about it, right?” Kent isn’t even looking at him; he’s wiping down the counter, spray bottle in hand. Kent is fastidious in the cleanliness of his shop, which makes sense what with it serving food and drinks while cats are everywhere. He’s constantly sweeping the wood floors or wiping down tables, and Tater respects him so much, for all that he does, even if he did wish Kent paid him slightly more attention.

Now though, he’s sort of glad Kent isn’t looking at him. “Why asking?”

Kent shrugs, sprays more of the foodsafe cleaner over another part of the counter. “I’ve got a friend who plays. He’s how I know the guy who bakes the pies. Anyway, he gave me a ticket to a game here but I don’t… uh, I don’t really…” he gets quiet. “Hockey’s not my thing,” he says eventually, expression unreadable. “Was wondering if you wanted it.”

“Me?” Tater’s trying to reconcile the fact that Kent doesn't like hockey with the fact that he’s offering Tater a ticket to a game.

A home game.

That he got from a friend who plays, who’s “friend” bakes pie.

There are coincidences, but this does not seem like one.

Kent doesn’t seem to notice Tater’s inner turmoil. “Yeah uh, you’re always coming in here with Falconers gear and colors and stuff. Figured you were a fan.”

“Oh.” Tater doesn’t know what to say. Kent does not seem particularly… enthused. About Tater being a “fan.”

“So? You want it? It’s the Falconers versus uh, I think Pittsburgh? Something.”

“I’m busy,” Tater ends up saying dumbly. “Work.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Kent tilts his head. “Maybe I’ll raffle it off, proceeds go towards the shelter.”

“That’s good idea.”

“Yeah…” Kent’s getting that faraway look in his eyes that usually means he’s planning something out and is about to abandon Tater to the idea. Then he glances back Tater’s way. “What do you do, anyway?”

Tater almost spills his drink. “What I’m do?”

“Yeah. For work? I mean like, all I know about you is that you travel a lot, you’re loaded, and you like cats. So, what d’you do? International business or something?”

Tater blinks at him. “I…” And now he doesn’t know what to do. He gets the feeling Kent wouldn’t be very impressed if Tater told him what he does for a living, no matter how good at it he is.

_Hockey’s not my thing._

After the silence stretches out too long, Kent shrugs. “Okay, I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You just better not be like, a spy or something.”

“Spy?” Tater asks, feeling inordinately relieved. Kent always just seems to know what to do.

“Yeah, you know, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you?”

“No, no spy. Promise.”

Kent flicks a look at him. He’s smiling slightly, and it makes Tater want to keep him smiling. “That’s just what I’d expect a spy to say.”

“You keep talking, I stay here more, drink more, give you more my money,” Tater says.

Kent actually laughs. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Tater reaches out and slowly slides the tip jar towards himself. Kent makes a grab for it. “Nevermind, give it back!”

“No,” Tater says, holding it out of reach. “You say I’m spy, fill it with spy money. Make you take.”

“That--what. What are you-- _no.”_

“Is okay,” Tater says. “Is for cats.” And he knows he’s won, because Kent sighs.

“At least put your damn money in the right place then,” he says, pushing the donation box forward.

The subject of the ticket -and hockey, and what Tater does for a living- is dropped.

 

\---

 

“You know Kent?” Tater demands, when he sees Jack next. “Owns cafe?”

Jack looks up from where he’s taping his stick, clearly startled. “Kent… Parson?”

“I’m only know one Kent who owns cafe,” Tater says. “So, yes? You know?”

“Yeah uh, I’ve known Kent for a while. He was neighbors with my billet family. We sort of reconnected when the Falconers drafted me. How uh, how do you know him?”

“He never come to games,” Tater says, instead of answering the question. “You never say about him.”

“It’s only recently we started talking again,” Jack says, confused. “And I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“You’re not talk about hockey with him? Teammates?” Everyone knows Tater’s nickname, and it’s not like it’s common. It Kent knows Jack, and Jack’s mentioned a Tater, then--

“I… not really? He doesn’t, um, he doesn’t like it. Bitty suggested I invite him to our game tonight, but he wasn’t interested.”

“Why he’s not like hockey?”

Jack looks away. “One of the reasons we became friends was because a lot of the hockey guys weren’t uh, weren’t very nice to him. And I was pretty quiet, so we kind of just gravitated towards each other. But he just. He doesn't like hockey players in general. I’m sort of an exception. And only sort of.”

Tater digests this, even as he feels his heart sink. “You invite him to game when he’s not like hockey?”

Jack shrugs. “Bitty suggested it,” he says again. “You know, show him the game’s not all that bad. I was hoping he’d come. He doesn’t like it when I talk about hockey or the team much, so it really limits our conversations. He’s more Bitty’s friend than mine, now.”

Tater swallows. Ends up trying to smile and chirp, “No wonder, if can’t talk about hockey with him. Nothing left for Zimmboni to talk about.”

“Haha. Anyway, how do you know him?”

Tater shrugs. “I’m like cats.”

“Oh. So you know him from his cafe then?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Tater shifts awkwardly. Jack waits patiently. “He’s not know I’m hockey player,” Tater says eventually. “Please don’t say.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t care--”

“Please don’t say,” Tater repeats. “When you talk. I’m want telling him myself. Bitty too. Not say about me.” If Kent doesn't like hockey players because of bad memories, the last thing Tater wants is for Jack to accidentally bring those up. Not when Tater can’t defend himself.

“Okay,” Jack says, after a moment. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Tater says. “Thank you.

“But I really don’t think he’d care.”

Tater remembers Kent’s face when he’d said _Hockey’s not my thing._

Tater’s pretty sure Kent would care.

 

\---

 

“Oh, hey,” Kent says, looking up at him. “What are you doing here?”

Tater widens his eyes. “Not want me?”

Kent rolls his own. “It’s Friday. You’re never in on Friday.”

It’s true; on Fridays Tater’s usually busy with games or out with teammates or other friends. He saves Kit-den for weekdays, treats when he’s back from roadies, and lazy Sunday afternoons. The fact that Kent’s noticed this makes something warm settle in Tater’s stomach. “Missed cats,” he says easily. “How is Casanova?”

“Just as much as a flirt as ever,” Kent says, “The surgery went well. Thanks for asking.”

“Is he out?” Tater looks over the cafe trying to spot the calico.

Kent shakes his head. “Not for a few more days. He still needs to rest, and if I let him out he’ll try to jump everywhere even with just three legs.”

“Okay,” Tater says. “Good. Glad he’s getting better.”

“Yeah, me too.” Kent slides Tater a look. “And thanks, by the way.”

“Why thank me?”

“Really? You’re gonna just play dumb?”

“You being so mean, call me names, not even let me order drink.”

“If I give you a drink, you’re going to try to pay me for it!”

“Kent,” Tater says slowly, trying to school his face, “Is business. How things work. I buy drink, you give me, I pay you.”

“You are _not--”_ Kent glances at his mostly-full cafe and then lowers his voice, “Look,” he says, “I know you’re the one who funded Casanova’s surgery. And thank you. Really.”

“I’m not--”

“Thank you,” Kent says again, firmly. “But you’ve gotta let me like, give something back here. It’s great that you’re giving to the cats and the shelter and stuff, it really is. But this is a business, just like you said. Which means I’m allowed to, at my discretion, give people free stuff because I think they deserve it. Or, you know, because they’ve single-handedly covered my entire profit margin for the last month.”

“Kent--”

“Please?”

Tater’s breath stutters. “What?”

“Please,” Kent says, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Just like… let me give you your stupid drinks for free, okay?”

“...okay.”

“Good. Great.” Kent shifts his weight. “So do you want the chocolate, the chai, or the cider?”

“Um, cider.”

“Pie? It’s blueberry today.”

“Yes, please,” Tater says meekly.

Kent nods. “Coming right up.” He turns away, and that’s Tater’s cue to go check out the adoptables wall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent laughs quietly, and inclines his head towards the cats. “You all looked so comfortable,” he says. “Didn't want to disturb you. I did take a picture though.” He holds up his phone. “Wanted to know if I could post it to the cafe's social media.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h e lp

The first day Tater visited Kit-den being an exception, he always leaves on time, never wanting to overstay his welcome. Kent already allows him so much; his attention while Tater is there (Kent doesn’t have to talk to Tater when he isn't busy, and Tater knows body language--he always watches carefully to make sure Kent doesn’t mind him around--and Kent's made it obvious that he isn’t doing it for the money), his careful explanations when Tater doesn't get a pop culture joke (and he never, never makes Tater feel stupid while explaining them), and the free drinks (though Tater does insist on still tipping every time; luckily it looks kind of like Kent has given up trying to dissuade him).

Today though, had been another bad day, and he's nursing a sprained wrist that is going to keep him on the bench for two weeks. He's in a cast just in case, because his trainer didn't trust him not to use it while he was supposed to be resting it (“I know you, Tater Tot), and he is already miserable.

Plus side: more time to spend at Kit-den, he guesses.

So it isn't entirely his fault when he goes to sit in a corner with the hot cinnamon chocolate that has definitely become his comfort drink, drifts, and wakes up with a cat in his lap, two more curled up on either side of him, and Kent sweeping the floor of a very empty cafe.

“Sorry!” Tater says, starting to get up and then pausing as the lap-cat, Tribble ( _he’s a tiny fluff-ball who tries to eat everything,_ Kent had explained. Tater still hadn't gotten the joke, so he'd left Kit-den with strict instructions to watch a particular episode of Star Trek), meows unhappily.

Kent laughs quietly, and inclines his head towards the cats. “You all looked so comfortable,” he says. “Didn't want to disturb you. I did take a picture though.” He holds up his phone. “Wanted to know if I could post it to the cafe's social media.”

Kent keeps up several different accounts for Kit-den, a facebook, twitter, and instagram, and he uses them all to promote the cafe and the cats, especially the adoptables. He's got a decent amount of followers because, “I post cute pictures of cats, of course people are going to follow me.” During some of his downtime he'd shown Tater some of his pictures, and Tater had been very impressed. His own twitter is mostly him chirping his teammates.

“Of course,” he says immediately.

Kent nods and fiddles with his phone for a little bit. “There we go.” He looks at Tater, and Tater can feel Kent's eyes trailing up and down his body. He wonders what Kent sees, and fervently hope it's all good. “You can stay there until I'm finished sweeping,” he says eventually.

“Thank you,” Tater says, surprised and, as always, touched. He knows that Kent prefers his space, and that he finds cleaning the cafe relaxing. Tater understands how much he is an intruder here, and Kent is letting him stay anyway. For all that he talks big and brash, acts as though he could care less, he is always kind.

Kent shrugs, a motion Tater is very, very familiar with now, and turns back to his sweeping. A moment later he pulls out his phone.

“What--” it buzzes in his hand, again, and again, and Tater can see his obvious confusion as he unlocks it, even as it continues to go off.

Then Tater's own phone buzzes and he realizes, heart sinking as he pulls it out of his pocket and sees that Marty has retweeted the picture of him, that the secret's out.

He looks up again to see Kent staring at him, clutching his broom tightly in one hand. It's shaking.

“Fan of the Falconers, huh?” he says eventually.

Tater winces.

“Guess this explains why you travel so much,” Kent says dully, dropping his eyes to stare at the floor. He's hunching in on himself.

He... almost looks afraid.

“Kent?” Tater asks hesitantly, slowly standing up.

Kent looks up at him and _flinches_ when Tater takes a step forward. Tater freezes where he stands.

“I'm sorry,” Tater says desperately. “Sorry I'm not telling you.”

“Could you, um. Could you leave. Please.” It's a whisper, and Kent is asking like he doesn't expect Tater to do it.

So Tater does the only thing he can and—and he does.

 

–

 

“Tater?” Jack asks, coming over to sit with him “You okay?”

It's been a week since Tater's been to Kit-den, and he's gone without for longer but he's never felt this longing before. So he comes to practices even if he can't play, a distraction if nothing else. “Yes,” he says shortly. “I'm okay.”

“C'mon Tater.” And that's Jack's Captain voice. “What's wrong?”

“Kent's not like hockey players,” Tater says eventually, staring at the ice. “Not like me.”

“He said that?”

Tater shrugs. “Make very clear. Ask me to leave, so I go. Stay away now.”

Jack sighs. Leans forward, braces his arms on his knees. “You like him a lot, don't you.”

“Doesn't matter,” Tater mutters.

“Of course it matters.”

“If he's not like me, then doesn't matter,” Tater says. “Won't... won't make things hard for him.”

“Tater--” Jack stops. Shifts in his seat. “Kent's got some... prejudices,” he says, after a pause. “About hockey players.”

“Yes, I'm know,” Tater says, feeling tired. “You say, he say.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, you don't--” he stops again, goes quiet.

Tater's concerned despite himself. “Jack?”

“You know what happened with me,” Jack says, after a long time. “Before I was drafted.”

The overdose. Jack going to college to get away from hockey. His eventual return. Tater nods. “Yes,”  and he's definitely paying attention now. Jack doesn't talk of his past lightly.

“A lot of people were there for me,” Jack says. “Some who... encouraged my behavior, and then others who helped me get over it.”

“Okay.”

“Kent had the former, and didn't get the latter.”

Tater's breath stutters. “He—?”

Jack shakes his head. “No, but...” he sighs again. “It was a hockey town, and there were a lot of hockey boys. And Kent was... different.”

 _Small,_ Tater's brain supplies immediately. _Gruff, but gentle. And desperately wanting to do some good._ “I don't understand.”

He watches Jack swallow. “You really should ask him about this stuff. It's not my place to say any more.”

“But I'll hurt him,” Tater says quietly.

“I really don't think you will.”

 

–

 

Tater goes to Kit-den the next day, and makes sure to go during the busiest time so that Kent doesn't feel cornered.

Kent looks up at him nervously when Tater approaches the counter, but Tater hunches his shoulders and quietly orders his drink, then goes to sit at one of the few unoccupied tables. He stays for an hour and pets Tribble, who has grown fond of him, and then gets up to leave.

He places his mug in the used bin and looks over at the counter. Kent is turned away, busy making a drink.

Tater drops something in the donations box. In the tip jar he puts in a piece of paper.

 _I'm sorry._ it says.

 

–

 

He goes back the next day and repeats the process.

And the day after that.

On the fourth day, Kent still looks uncomfortable when Tater walks in, but he makes him his drink and, like usual, doesn't give him a price. Tater is about to take his drink to his spot when Kent wordlessly slides a plate of pie across the counter.

Tater hesitantly smiles at him. Kent avoids eye contact and turns away.

But it's a start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several days later things are... not better, but maybe on their way to getting there. And Tater's arm is out of the cast and he's finally able to play again. He heads to Kit-den as soon as he's done with practice, humming to himself and feeling optimistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments everyone. They're always so nice to read. For this chapter (and ensuing chapters), please take note of the new tags.
> 
> Warnings: Pet death. References to past bullying and abuse, allusions to past sexual abuse. This was supposed to be a silly lighthearted story.

Several days later things are... not better, but maybe on their way to getting there. And Tater's arm is out of the cast and he's finally able to play again. He heads to Kit-den as soon as he's done with practice, humming to himself and feeling optimistic.

It’d be nice to see the cats again. He’s started making a game of checking the adoptables wall to see which cats get adopted while he’s gone, and to try to recognize the new ones.

So yes. The cats.

When he gets to the shop though, it’s just in time to see a gaggle of people leaving it, and Kent flipping the sign to _closed._

He looks--pretty upset, and Tater’s opening the door before he thinks about why he maybe shouldn’t.

“Things okay?” he asks.

Kent looks up from where he’s crouching down over a black cat that Tater doesn’t know. He’s got a cat carrier next to him, and looks like he’s trying to coax the cat inside.

“Fuck,” he says, the word gritted out, “No.” and then, much softer, much more careful, “Come on Precious, in you go, girl. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

“Kent? What is matter?”

“Some fuckwit brought in yarn,” Kent says angrily and looking near tears. “I--I didn’t notice in time, and Precious started to swallow it. Cat’s tongues--they’re rough, if yarn gets hooked there they keep _swallowing_ , I’ve got to--I’ve got to take her to the vet--”

Precious meows pitifully and for Tater, it’s not even a question. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling out his keys. “We take my car.”

The ride over is tense, and Tater possibly breaks a few speed laws on the way over. Kent keeps up a steady litany of gentle murmurs to Precious, telling her that she’ll be okay, just to wait, she’ll be fine.

 

-

 

The doctor delivers the verdict along with the x-rays. Precious ingested too much yarn, and it’s wrapped around her insides. Surgery would be intensive, expensive, and might not even help. The kindest thing to do is euthanasia.

Kent nods tightly. He pets Precious, bumps his forehead against hers, and then lets her go.

When it’s over and they’re outside, he turns to Tater and falls against his chest, shaking. Tater brings up his arms around him. “It’s my fault,” Kent says, voice cracking. “I should have noticed, I try to be so careful, fucking _yarn_ ” and “She was such a good cat. She was so good. Fuck I--she didn’t deserve this, I was so _stupid--”_

“Not stupid,” Tater says quiet but firm. “Never stupid. Try your best. Fault is person who brings yarn. You are so good to cats. You work so hard for your cats.”

Kent sags against him. “Could you just… could you just take me back?” He sounds so sad, so defeated and Tater just wants to keep holding him.

“Yes. Yes,” Tater says, pulling away. “We go.”

Once they’re back at the shop, Kent unlocks the door and Tater, after a moment’s hesitation, follows him inside. Kent immediately reaches for the first cat that gets near him, and he buries his face in its fur, shaking again, sobbing.

Tater, feeling like an intruder, leaves the way he came in, pulling the door closed behind him.

That night he donates what is… probably an inordinate amount of money to Kit-den. But Tater also knows how much Kent cares for his animals, and the bills that come with that care, and he’d do anything, anything to keep Kent from having to face the possibility of loss like that again anytime soon.

 

-

 

The shop is closed the next day, being a Wednesday, but Tater goes by just in case, to check. The closed sign is flipped and most of the lights are off, though Tater can see the cats milling around, jumping on surfaces, playing with each other.

He spends a few minutes just watching them when Kent comes out into the front room. He catches sight of Tater looking in through the large glass windows and his eyes widen, and then he’s walking forward, toward the door.

Tater swallows as Kent unlocks the door, holds it open. “Hey,” Kent says quietly.

“Hello,” Tater says, just as softly. “How are you?”

“Fucking miserable,” Kent says, voice catching. “Just… I’m just cleaning the place. It could use it.” The shop is as clean as ever, and Kent keeps it spotless. “And, you know, better safe than sorry. I might… might find something else.”

Tater’s heart breaks. “I can help?”

“What?”

“Help you. I--can I help?” So you won’t be alone while you’re this sad.

Kent looks up at him. “I, uh, I’m good doing it myself but… but if you wanna um, keep me company. Or spend some time with the cats.”

“Yes,” Tater says immediately. “Thank you.”

“Right, sure.” Kent leads Tater into the cafe. “You want something to drink? Nothing fancy; I don’t have any of my machines on, but I’ve got that cider you like, as long as you don’t mind it cold.”

“Cider would be good,” Tater says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Kent forgoes the music he’s told Tater that he usually puts on, _“pop-y junk or hiphop, you know, stuff, I can move to,”_ and works quietly and methodically, with the practiced air of someone who’s been doing this for a long time. Wipes down every surface, pulls the cloth covers off of the cushions and replaces them with new ones, sweeps the floor. He gathers up all the people-interactive toys and puts them back in the little cubbies on the side of the room, rearranges the other ones in different parts of the cafe, and looks under and around each and every surface checking for something that shouldn’t be there.

It’s much, much later when Kent is done, and he looks startled to find that Tater is still there. “Oh,” he says. “Wow, uh, sorry. You didn’t have to stay this whole time.”

Tater shrugs. He didn’t have anywhere else to be. “Wanted to.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

“Dinner,” Tater says.

“What?”

“Is late. I’m take you out to dinner. Okay?”

Kent looks startled and a little confused, but not afraid like he had before. “I. Sure? I mean. You’re sure?”

“Yes. Come. I know good place.”

Kent locks the cafe and then trails after Tater, getting into the car when Tater opens the door for him. “I’m covered in cat hair,” he says, as they start to drive. And he actually sounds like _himself._ “You better not be taking me someplace nice.”

“Deserve someplace nice,” Tater says. Because Kent does. “But no, if I take you nice place, warn you first.”

“Uh?”

“Yes,” Tater says decisively.

Tater takes them to a hip little Indian-fusion place that he discovered completely accidentally while trolling yelp for interesting places he hadn’t tried before. It’s nicer than a diner or a sports bar, but not _too_ nice, so he figures it’s perfect for what Kent needs right now.

Kent drifts inside, sits at the table Tater leads him to. Stares down at the menu and fidgets, like he isn't sure what he's supposed to do.

“...maybe you should order for me,” Kent says at last. “I don't really go out much. You know, don't know what's good.”

Tater smiles at him. “Sure, okay. What you are not like?”

Not very much, it turns out, and he doesn't mind spicy as long as it doesn't burn off the roof of his mouth, so Tater orders him a curried lamb dish and a mango lassi drink that is the best he's ever had.

They're quiet while they wait for their order, and while Tater doesn't mind the silence, Kent seems nervous and unsure.

“Precious,” Tater says eventually.

Kent startles and looks up. “What?”

“Precious. You want... talk about her? Tell me story?”

Kent swallows, eyes soft and sad. “She was a good cat,” he says at last. “Um, really, you know, really well-mannered. And um, and she liked to play with the kittens and she was always so gentle with them. I—I knew she'd be adopted really... really fast.” He stares down at his plate and Tater can see that his eyelashes are wet.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “Maybe is wrong of me to ask.”

Kent shakes his head. “No it's—it's okay. I um, I'd rather, you know. I'd rather she be... remembered. I um, you know, I do.”

“Do what?”

“Remember all my cats. The ones who don't get adopted, get sick, um. It's important. It's important to be remembered.”

“Kent?” Tater asks, unsure.

Kent shakes his head again,looks back up at Tater. “Never mind. But um, thanks. You know. For uh... being here.”

“Of course.”

And again, there's that confused look. “Right,” Kent says at last. “Okay.”

 

–

 

Tater drives Kent back to the cafe after dinner, and Kent pauses at the door. “You wanna maybe come inside for a little bit?”

Tater needs to be up early tomorrow to get ready for the game, but that's what naps are for. Kent is asking something of him. Kent never asks for anything. “Yes,” he says immediately.

“Think I'm gonna turn on a machine, make myself something. Want anything?”

“...chocolate?” Tater says tentatively.

Kent lets out a whisper of a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “It's that kind of night, huh.”

Tribble jumps up on the counter while they wait for the machine to burble to life, and Tater pets him as he purrs.

“Think some of the cats like you better'n me,” Kent says.

“Never. You best.”

“Sure.”

Before, that answer would have been _“You know it.”_ or _“Yeah, I am.”_

When the hot chocolate is ready, Kent slides one of the mugs across to Tater. Inclines his head toward a table, and they both go to sit down.

After a minute, Kent sighs. “I'm uh, I'm sorry for being weird. With you. I know you wouldn't... that you're not... you're nice,” he says at last. “You're not just like, playing at it. You're good to the cats, and you've donated so much to them, and you've always been... you've always been nothing but friendly to me even if you do leave ridiculous tips, though I guess the fact that you're probably a millionaire makes it sort of okay, and it doesn't matter since I just put that money back into the cafe anyway--”

“Kent, is money for you,” Tater says, frowning. He hadn't meant to interrupt but, “For you getting nice things.”

Kent blinks at him. “What do I need?”

Anything you let me give you, Tater doesn't say.

Kent looks back down at his drink. “But um, yeah, I. It wasn't you, it was me? So I just. I wanted to say sorry. And—and I'm glad you're still coming, even with me being stupid--”

“Not stupid,” Tater says. “Never stupid. But... but I'm did think... why.”

Kent stares at his mug. “I grew up in a hockey town. Players were always everywhere, kids from school, actual maybe-draftees, I uh, I lived next to a billet family , so guys were always around as I grew up. That's um, that's how I met Jack. You know Jack, right?”

Tater nods wordlessly.

“Right,” Kent says. “Okay. Well. Um. So I played hockey and I wanted friends and I was fast. I played pretty well for a kid that wasn't planning on doing anything with it. And I guess that got some of the guys mad? So they uh, they... I got hurt a lot, playing.”

Tater's hand clenches around his mug. “What?”

Kent shrugs. “Yeah, so. So I stopped. But... but I still wanted friends, so I sort of, uh, you know, went along with whatever stuff people were doing. Partying, drinking, that—that sort of thing. It was the hockey scene. And I was always kind of small, at least next to them, and um...” his words get choppier and choppier as he forces them out, but he keeps going and Tater, who wants so badly to just gather him up in his arms, can only listen. “And I guess it came out that I was gay or whatever, or at least everyone just assumed because I didn't bother trying to get a girlfriend so, you know, at parties, drinking, some guys um,” he swallows. “Some of them, um. S-some of them sometimes--” he swallows again, and Tater can't stand it any longer.

“Kent.” Kent looks up, eyes wide and shining. Tater reaches across the table and gently puts his hand on top of Kent's, who doesn't pull away. “Kent, don't tell me. Is okay.”

Kent wipes at his face. “A-anyway. The point is that, um. The point is that I know you're not—like them. And I'm sorry I maybe acted like you were. That wasn't--that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Not about fair,” Tater says. “About you. You're being upset. I'm still stay away, if it makes you upset.”

Kent shakes his head. “No I—it's fine. I told you I... I like it when you come by."

“Okay. Okay, then I'm keep doing.” Tater tries to smile at Kent, because Kent is so, so worth one. “I like being here.”

Kent sniffs, gives Tater a watery smile back. “Cool.”

They sit in silence for a while, just sipping their drinks.

Kent's the one who eventually excuses himself to go to bed, and Tater nods, fights the urge to kiss him on the cheek, the forehead, the palm of his hand, and goes.

He has a lot of thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The yarn thing is a very real danger; this was based on something that happened to one of my mother's cats--she got into my mom's knitting. I know that kitten-with-a-ball-of-string is a very cute image, but please keep actual balls of string away from cats!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater decides in the end that nothing has changed. He likes Kent. Maybe... more than just likes, now. Either way, he wants to give him the world, and right now, Kent desperately needs cheering up.
> 
> And the way to Kent's heart is obviously through his cafe and it's inhabitants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: NONE. A nice, light, happy fluff of an update. I hope this helps soothe the last chapter a little bit.

Tater decides in the end that nothing has changed. He likes Kent. Maybe... more than just likes, now. Either way, he wants to give him the world, and right now, Kent desperately needs cheering up.

And the way to Kent's heart is obviously through his cafe and it's inhabitants.

“What is this,” Kent says blinking down at the large box Tater's set on the counter.

“Is gift,” Tater says. “For cafe.” And you.

“I. What?”

“Open it,” Tater says stubbornly. He'd been up way too late scouring websites, and then had paid for express shipping. The box was at his doorstep after he'd gotten home from the game. And it’s lucky he’s a professional hockey player because it ended up being heavy.

Kent raises an eyebrow, but retrieves a box cutter from the back room. The eyebrow climbs higher as he pulls out a mass of bubblewrap and then a smaller, individual thing wrapped in newspaper.

When he rips off the newspaper, he stares down at the mug. It's a off-white mug with a picture of a black cat curling around the bottom of it. The rim is branded  _ The Kit-den Catfe  _ in the grey and pink font Kent that uses for the sign and all his aprons. 

Tater shifts as Kent takes it in. “Like it?” he asks eventually, when Kent doesn't say anything.

Kent looks from the mug to Tater, and then stares down at the box. “How many of these did you get?”

“Just a little bit,” Tater blatantly lies. There are matching plates too, of varying sizes just like the mugs. “You say before, want new things, but no time to look and order. So I help.”

“You can't—did you just buy  _ branded dishware  _ for the entire cafe?” And that's Kent's indignant voice. Perfect.

“No good?” Tater asks, feigning confusion.

Kent sputters.

“Okay,” Tater says, “Good you like. Chai latte please.” He grins slyly. “In nice new mug.”

He puts double his usual amount in the donation box, and leaves a  _ reasonable _ tip. If Kent won't use it for himself, Tater has other plans for the money.

 

–

 

He next makes it in on Sunday evening, and he comes prepared. 

“What is it,” Kent says, eyeing the box in Tater's hands. It's much smaller, but Kent looks as if he expects it to bite him.

“Is for cats,” Tater says, pushing it forward across the counter.

Kent still looks suspicious, but he takes the box and opens it. “Oh,” he says softly, pulling out the three puzzle feeders. 

“Good?” Tater asks.

“These are... this is great.”

“You say you use them, can always need more,” Tater smiles. “Glad I’m pick right.”

“Um, yeah. Thanks.”

He takes his drink and goes to sit down. Leaves his usual donation, and a note in the tip jar.  _ Also give fifteen to shelters. Hope is okay! _

 

–

 

“Is for cats,” Tater says, the next time he comes in with a box.

“Tater, I am a business owner, I am perfectly capable of finding and purchasing--”

Tater wordlessly sets the box on the counter.

Kent heaves a very put-upon sigh and ducks down to retrieve the box cutter. Eyes wide, he pulls out the bergan star chaser turbo scratcher, the petstage tower of tracks, the tailmate cat tunnel, and the three wireless remote-controlled rat toys.

“Thought it would be good,” Tater explains. “New toys for cats, new toys for people play with cats. People like to see new things, play with new things. Is very safe,” he adds. “Checked many places. Old toys can go to shelter.”

Kent stares at him and looks back down at the toys.

“...you need to stop.”

“But is for cats!”

Kent throws up his hands and goes to make Tater's drink. Tater occupies himself by opening all of the packaging.

 

–

 

“Kent?” 

“Yeah?”

Tater shifts. “Have games,” he says. It's the first time he's ever mentioned what he does since Kent found out.

Kent looks down. “Oh. Okay.”

“Away games. Will be gone for two weeks.”

“Oh,” Kent says again. “Um. Okay?”

Tater smiles hesitantly. “Want to let you know why I'm not come by with presents.”

“And I want you to know that you can stop with the presents at literally any time.”

“But Kent,” Tater says, “All is for cats.”

Kent huffs. He looks adorable. “Just don't go so overboard, okay?” he says, looking away.

“No overboard,” Tater promises.

He leaves a perfectly normal donation, and slides a gift card to a local bookstore into the tip jar. 

 

–

 

After two weeks of roadies Tater comes back exhausted. They played well, but they were hard-won battles. He could definitely use some relaxation.

He throws a load of laundry in the wash, wolfs down one of the protein-rich meals left by his usual kitchen stocker, and then heads to Kit-den.

There's a line when he comes in, so he waits patiently until it's his turn. The fact that Kit-den is busy means that he won't have a lot of time with Kent unless Tater hangs out around the counter. Which he's perfectly happy to do, but he also doesn't want to hover.

When it's Tater's turn, however, he's surprised when Kent starts with, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

Tater frowns, confused. “Of course. Why you think I'm not okay?”

Kent averts his eyes. “I uh. I... I watched your game. Your last one. You um, you got hit. I remember when I--” he stops.

“You watch me play?” Tater says dumbly. He wracks his mind trying to remember the game. Was he good? That was one they won, wasn't it? Did he get a goal? Oh god, did he drop his gloves? Did Kent see him  _ fight? _ ” 

Kent averts his eyes. “The check. You went down pretty hard.”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Tater barely remembers it. He's had way worse. He's  _ done _ way worse. And he is not about to tell Kent either of these things. “I'm survive,” he says. “Happens sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Kent ducks his head.

“Kent--” Tater reaches out to touch his shoulder. Kent looks up at him. “Kent,” Tater says again, trying to put in as much feeling as he can, “I'm love hockey. So much. Left many things behind, to play.”

“...do you regret it?”

Tater shakes his head. “Being here has brought me many things. Good team, good hockey, more family.” You. “I'm happy you watch me play.” He grins. “Hope I'm look good for you!”

Kent shrugs, but there's a smile playing around his lips. “You were alright I guess.”

“No, I'm best!”

Kent raises an eyebrow. “What about Jack?”

Tater waves a hand. “Next best after me.”

And that, out of everything, is what has Kent laughing.

“I'm telling him you said that,” he says.

Tater shrugs. “I say already many times.”

Kent laughs again, softly. “Alright, well. Glad you're okay. Now go away; I have other customers.”

Tater takes his drink and goes, feeling lighter and happier than he has in a while.

 

–

 

Tater keeps coming in. Kent gives him drinks and baked goods for free, and Tater pretends that he isn't planning on stuffing money into the donation box. He sees a number of cats get adopted and cozies up with the live-ins—the cats who have been part of Kit-den so long that Kent's pretty much adopted them himself. 

He continues to slide notes and gifts into the tip jar, things he knows Kent will use, that Kent has said he likes. Occasionally he goes what is, in Kent's opinion, too far, and he gets chased down as he leaves while Kent demands that he take back the one hundred dollar itunes giftcard.

Tater always wants to kiss him, in those moments.

He always wants to kiss Kent period.

And usually he says something like, “Is present, want to give you.” and Kent sputters and Tater says, “Take it, be nice to me.”

“This isn't about nice! You can't just—you can't just keep giving me--”

“Want to. Not want, don't have to use, okay? Raffle it off for cats, maybe.”

That’s always when Kent sighs. “I need to get back to the cafe.” 

And Tater grins. “Not keeping you.”

Or

“Kent!” Tater makes a grabby hand. “Wrist please.”

“What?” Kent says, even as he holds his hand out. “Why--”

Tater holds onto his hand tight, so Kent can’t yank it away while Tater slides the watch onto his wrist.

“Are you fu--” Kent flicks his eyes over the cafe, lowers his voice, “Are you freaking kidding me,” he says in a furious whisper. “You can’t--Tater! There’s too much and there’s  _ too much!” _

Tater clicks the clasp shut. “Looks nice,” he says, satisfied. It’s a very nice watch. Sleek silver with a blue face. He’d seen it and immediately thought that it would suit Kent. And it does.

Kent stares at the watch like he thinks it’s going to catch fire. “You like it so much, you wear it,” he says, trying to tug his hand back.

“Can’t,” Tater says. “Wrists too big. So got for you!”

“I’m just going to ruin it! I’ll spill something or--a cat will scratch it up--”

“Waterproof seal,” Tater says smugly. “And diamond face. No scratches.”

“You seriously just… bought me a watch.”

“Yes.”

“ _ Why.” _

“Want to get you many nice thing,” Tater says matter-of-factly. “I see it, think of you, get for you. Simple, see?”

“Oh, just take it,” the woman behind Tater says. “Let your boyfriend spoil you.”

Kent colors so quickly that Tater laughs. Kent uses Tater’s distraction to yank his hand back.

Tater doesn’t even bother ordering a drink, just books it out of the cafe, still laughing. Kent has customers; he won’t be able to chase Tater down.

 

-

 

The next time he comes in, he catches the glint of silver around Kent’s wrist. 

Kent had kept it. Has been wearing it.

“Are you  _ sure _ ,” Kent says, holding out his wrist when it’s Tater’s turn at the counter. 

“Yes. Of course.” 

Kent looks at him, expression unreadable. “...thanks. It’s um, it’s nice.”

Tater beams.

 

-

 

Once in awhile Kent comments on Tater's games. Smiles hesitantly and says, “That was a good goal, last night,” or nervously asks him about a check. Tater, for his part, always gets warm when Kent shows an interest in hockey –something he's said he doesn't like anymore but is now paying attention to again because of  _ Tater _ \-- but he's also more of aware of himself on the ice, now that he knows Kent is watching.

He tries to get into fewer fights. Hockey is a violent sport, and dropping your gloves is part of it, but hockey had hurt Kent. Hockey had hurt Kent badly. Tater doesn't want to be associated with the type of people who were a part of that. So he plays and he plays well, but he tries to keep Kent in mind, when he's furious.

 

–

He gets a hat-trick on an away game, and comes back to Kent smiling at him. “That was pretty cool,” he says, handing Tater his chai latte

Tater grins.  _ It was for you. I know you’re watching me.  _ “Glad I'm look cool. Very important.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He stays til closing that night, waits for everybody else to leave, when he approaches Kent.

“Kent,” he says quietly. “Have something for you.”

Kent sighs and looks up from where he's stacking chairs. “What can you possibly--” he stops.

Tater holds out the puck. 

“Um,” Kent says, frozen, staring at it. “Are you—is that--”

“Is hat-trick puck,” Tater says evenly. “Want for should you to have it.”

He watches Kent swallow and come a little closer. He raises his hand but can’t quite seem to touch the puck. Tater slowly reaches out and takes Kent’s hand in his, bringing it up to press Kent’s fingers to his lips.

Kent is looking at him, eyes wide. “What--what are we doing?”

“Whatever you want,” Tater tells him. When Kent doesn’t pull his hand away, Tater turns it so that he can kiss the palm of his hand, then the inside of his wrist. 

Kent exhales shakily and his eyes slide shut as Tater, watching carefully for any negative reaction, continues to kiss up his arm. “I--Tater--”

“Alexei,” Tater says. 

“Alexei,” Kent repeats, opening his eyes again. His pupils are blown. “…what do you want?”

“Anything,” Tater says again, taking a tiny step closer. “Anything you’re giving me. I like you very much, Kent. I care about you very much.”

Kent swallows and Tater takes a chance, setting the puck down on a table with a soft  _ click _ before curling his free arm around Kent’s back. “Kent?” he pauses, asking for permission.

Kent searches his face and then whispers, “Okay.”

Tater stoops down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Kent’s mouth, and then pulls away, waiting.

Kent is trembling in his arms as he pushes up onto his toes to kiss Tater back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All through his drive back home, as he eats dinner, while he gets ready for bed, he thinks about how Kent had felt in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for all your comments. They've been lovely!

Tater leaves several long moments later, after Kent pulls away and quietly says that he needs to finish closing up. His mouth is kiss-swollen, and it’s a good look for him Tater decides. He tilts up Kent’s chin to kiss him one last time before he finally heads out.

All through his drive back home, as he eats dinner, while he gets ready for bed, he thinks about how Kent had felt in his arms.

It’s on his mind the next day too, during practice and then that evening’s game. He plays like a beast and it’s commented on, that something must have set him on fire.

He goes back to the cafe and Kent is busy, but he smiles at Tater when he comes in, and that’s all Tater needs.

He takes a chance and drops his number in the tip jar.

That night he gets a message from an unknown number.

_Hi, it’s Kent. Wanted to say good night._

_It was nice to see you today._

Tater saves the number, texts back the same sentiment, and goes to bed smiling.

 

\--

 

Tater has another string of away games, the Falconers headed for the playoffs, and they text back and forth. Kent tells him stories of things that happened in the cafe, updates him on the adoptables and twice, after asking permission, Tater calls. He’s careful about how much he talks about hockey, but he does tell Kent about his team, makes fun of Jack, things that puts a smile in Kent’s voice.

When Tater is home, he always makes time to visit the cafe. He takes Kent out. To dinner, to museums, to interesting bookstores.

He might continue to get things for the cafe and for Kent. He buys the complete works of Calvin and Hobbes and leaves the box on the counter, slips more gift cards and notes into the tip jar.

“You don’t have to get me anything at all,” Kent says, sounding exasperated.

“Want to. Makes me happy when you take things I give you.” He still gets a thrill of pleasure every time he catches sight of the watch on Kent’s wrist. He likes Kent wearing things that mark Kent as his. Has perhaps quietly been making plans to dress Kent up one day, buy him nice clothes, maybe a tailored suit. Eventually.

“...oh.”

They kiss goodnight. Sometimes it’s soft and sometimes it’s desperate, but Kent never seems like he wants more, and Tater refuses to push.

 

\--

 

Tater goes in one day, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the tip jar. Kent immediately narrows his eyes as Tater slides in the envelope.

“Tater,” he says warningly, “I haven't even used up the last three gift cards you’ve given me, and that’s not including the one I raffled off.”

“Not giftcard,” Tater says. “You can open now, even.”

Kent eyes him suspiciously, but he dries his hands on a towel and pulls out the envelope. He sucks in a breath when he takes out the ticket.

“Is for play-offs game tomorrow,” Tater says quietly. “First home one. Would… would be nice if you come. Lucky.”

“Tater--”

“Can even meet team, if you want. Don’t have to! But you can sit with Bitty in SOAP box. And cheer for me? Maybe Jack too.”

Kent puts the ticket back into the envelope and places it behind the counter. “I’ll think about it,” he says eventually.

He goes up to Tater as he’s leaving. “Come to the back with me for a sec?”

As always, Tater is willing to do what Kent asks, especially since he asks for so little. He follows Kent into the back room. It’s at least half the size of the actual cafe, and a mess of organization. Aside from the cafe-typical storage, there’s a large sink, as well as a washer and dryer, a tower of plexiglass cages with hidden litter boxes underneath, cat beds, cat carriers, puzzle feeders and water fountains.

“Kent?” Tater asks, after the door swings shut.

“Okay,” Kent says, sounding like he’s pushing the word out. “I’ll--I’ll come.”

Tater had hoped, but hearing it is something else. “Thank you,” he says fervently.

“It won’t be so bad,” Kent says, like he’s trying to reassure himself. “I’ll um, I’ll sit with Bitty?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Okay. Maybe um, maybe he and I can go together. I’ll ask.”

“Okay,” Tater smiles. Kent hasn’t brought up meeting the team, so Tater won’t either. “Kent?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“...I _guess_ so.”

Kent’s panting when Tater finally lets go of him. “Thank you,” Tater says again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You better be amazing.”

“Promise.”

 

\--

 

They win. Tater gets a goal and two assists. He’s ecstatic when he gets off the ice and doesn’t even mind the media, riding the high of the game, of his performance, of Kent’s here and watching, good luck text.

Bitty is waiting outside the lockers when they all get out, like he usually does when Jack’s got a home game. Kent isn’t with him, and Tater squashes down his disappointment. That Kent even came to a hockey game at all is big, and Tater is happy to take that victory for what it is.

It’s even more of a victory when he gets to his car, and there’s Kent, waiting for him.

“Hey,” Kent says, giving him a shy smile.

“Hello,” Tater says, stepping closer. He knows he’s grinning like a fool. “You came.”

Kent shrugs. “Well yeah, I said I would. No big deal.”

It is a very big deal, and Tater knows it. “Glad you come. You see me?”

“Yeah, I guess you did okay.”

Tater laughs, and Kent reaches out to touch his arm. “You’re probably starving. You um, you want to come to my place? I can make dinner.”

Tater goes warm. It’s the first time Kent’s invited him over. “Yes, yes of course.”

“Cool. Um, you can follow me, then. You know where it is.”

 

\--

 

Kent’s apartment is clean and neat, just like his cafe, though Tater can spy some cat toys littered around the place. He doesn’t have long to look though, since Kent leads him straight to the kitchen.

The table is set for two. Tater stares at it, wordlessly looks over to Kent. Kent who thought about this. Who planned to ask Tater over tonight, didn’t just do it on a whim, and he feels a renewed burst of affection for him.

Kent doesn’t notice; he’s turned away, pulling a pot and a covered dish out of his refrigerator. “It’s uh, it’s pasta and meatballs. Hope that’s okay.”

It’s what Tater orders every time they get Italian. “Yes. Thank you.”

“And broccoli, since, you know, eat your vegetables. It’ll just take me a little bit to warm it all up. Feel free to take a seat.”

Tater does, divides his attention between watching Kent and leaning down to pet the white cat winding around his ankles. He doesn’t recognize her, and it takes him a second to notice that she’s missing her eyes.

“Who is this?”

Kent glances down. “Oh, that’s Kit.”

“Ah! Kit-den’s namesake!”

Kent laughs. “Yeah, kinda. She can’t hang out downstairs because it’s too unpredictable an environment. But I don’t think she minds just hanging out with me.”

“Very cute,” Tater says, scratching her under her chin. “Just like owner.”

Kent blushes and turns back to the stove. “Shut up.”

Tater grins.

After a few more minutes, Kent carries the food over to the table. There is… a lot of it, definitely more than what Kent would have made for himself, and Tater digs in happily.

After Tater’s third plateful, Kent says, “I’m glad I had an idea of how much you guys can eat.”

“Is very good!”

“It better be.” But he’s smiling down at his plate when he says it.

When Tater can’t eat anymore, Kent covers the leftovers back up and puts them away, immediately loads the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Shuffles his feet a little bit before saying, “Thanks for inviting me. I’m glad I went. I’m glad I got to see you play in person.”

Tater reaches for him, pulls him in, and Kent goes easily. “I’m glad you come too,” he says, cupping Kent’s cheek in one hand.

Kent’s the one who slants their mouths together, and Tater is the one who pulls back, before he wants too much more. “Is late,” he says quietly. “I’m should go.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. “You need your rest. Thank you um, thanks for coming over.”

“Very happy you invite me.” Tater presses a kiss to Kent’s hair. “Come to next game?”

“I… yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

\--

 

They win the next home game too. Tater skates up in front of the SOAP box and finds Kent, presses his mouth to his gloves and then taps the glass.

Kent’s waiting for him in the parking lot again.

 

\--

 

“Watch me play?” Tater asks, before he leaves for the away game.

“Of course.”

 

\--

 

The game goes late into OT, and then the season is over, all of them nursing the loss on the way home.

Tater gets a text, _I’m so sorry._

and _Come by whenever you want to._

He isn’t able to, when he first gets back. Needs some time to stew over the loss. But then he gets lonely, sooner than he used to, so late Sunday evening about an hour before close, he makes it over to Kit-den.

Kent catches sight of him when he comes in, and there’s a ready-made hot chocolate dripping with whipped cream when Tater approaches the counter. “Go get some therapy,” Kent says, inclining his head towards Tater’s usual corner.

Tater stays til close, and Kent approaches him after he flips the sign. “You wanna go upstairs?” he asks. “While I take care of things down here. Maybe order something in? We can have dinner.”

Tater swallows down the rush of affection and nods, throat dry. “Yes,” he croaks. “Thank you. I will.”

So he heads upstairs to Kent’s apartment and orders Chinese (Kent loves it), then spends the next while petting Kit.

Kent comes up with the take-out bags and gets utensils and plates, bringing them into the living room. He offers Tater the remote and Tater switches it to something easy, the sound washing over him without him having to work on translating, and he and Kent eat in companionable silence.

When they’re done, Kent takes the leftover food and used dishes and puts everything away, comes back in with a couple of beers, offers one to Tater.

“Next year for sure,” Kent says quietly.

Tater nods. “For sure.” He’ll do better, play better, will work harder. He’s got the entire offseason to improve.

And, now, more time to spend with Kent. It’s… it’s not all bad.

Kent turns off the television and sets his beer on the coffee table, and Tater follows suit.

This time Kent reaches for him first, and Tater accepts him eagerly. Kent ends up sliding into Tater’s lap, winding his arms around his neck, and Tater curls his own arms around Kent’s back, holding him close as they kiss.

For a long time there are only soft, wet sounds, and then Kent moves back, just a little. Tater watches him bite his lip and then look up at him.

“Do you… do you wanna spend the night?”

Tater sucks in a breath. Takes a second just to marvel at Kent, that Tater gets to have him, and everything he’s willing to offer. And what a gift he’s being given.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to Kent’s bedroom, and Kent manages to turn on his bedside lamp before he crawls into Tater’s lap again for more kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: allusions to past sexual abuse, current trauma

They make it to Kent’s bedroom, and Kent manages to turn on his bedside lamp before he crawls into Tater’s lap again for more kissing. Tater runs his hands along Kent’s back, dips underneath his shirt to skirt his fingers along skin, and Kent sighs into his mouth, leans back to pull his shirt over his head. Tater immediately moves to map out the expanse of all that bared skin, makes it a goal to to put his mouth on every part of Kent that he can reach.  


He ends up gently lowering Kent down onto the mattress and lavishing him with attention, sucking a hickey onto his neck while Kent whimpers, fingers pressing into Tater’s back. The sound and feel of him shoots straight through Tater, and he moves lower, mouthing at Kent, using tongue and, carefully, the hint of teeth.

Kent tugs at his shirt, so Tater pulls away just long enough to yank it over his head and drop it to the floor, and then he’s on Kent again, kissing his way down Kent’s chest, towards his waistband. Kent is hard, and Tater’s breath catches again at Kent splayed out for him, open for him, at the thought that he gets to do this, gets to give him pleasure.

He shifts further down so he can press a kiss there too, already anticipating Kent in his mouth, when Kent goes tense underneath him, jerking away, and he hears a sharp intake of breath, almost a sob. It’s a ‘no’ in every sense of the word, and Tater scrambles to move back, nearly falling off the bed. “Kent?”

Kent looks absolutely terrified, and he’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Sorry,” he gasps, “Sorry, I--you don’t--I’d never--you don’t have to--”

_ and I guess it came out I was gay or whatever… so at parties, drinking, some guys… some guys sometimes-- _

Tater swallows, doesn’t clench his fists, banks his anger because it’s the last thing Kent needs. “Are you need me to leave?”

Kent shakes his head, “No, I--I’m fine, it’s fine, I--”

Tater moves forward and Kent flinches back. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant--I know you’re not--I’m sorry--”

“Kent, is okay,” Tater says quietly. “Don’t be sorry. Never sorry, for this.”

Kent clutches at his comforter. His knuckles are white. “I’m, I shouldn’t, this shouldn’t freak me out, I can deal with it, I promise--”

“Is okay,” Tater says again, trying desperately to assure him. “Is okay it freaks you out. Don’t want to do something you’re not want. Never.”

They stay like that, in silence except for their breathing, until Kent’s stopped taking huge gulps of air, seems to calm down.

“I never… I haven’t…” Kent stumbles over his words and then finally says, voice small, “I didn’t realize that I’d--that it would bother me” 

“Is fine,” because it is, except for how it isn’t. “Kent, is fine.”

Kent breathes and breathes. “I’m still sorry for… for ruining it,” he says eventually, like he’s embarrassed. Embarrassed that he has bad memories.

Tater shakes his head. “Ruined nothing. I’m only want what you want. What do you want?”

“I… I still want you here,” Kent says quietly. As if he’s not allowed to say it, to ask this of him. “Even if it’s--just to sleep. Is that…”

“Yes, okay.” Tater smiles. “I’m like that very much.”

They both move slowly, Tater wiggling out of his pants so he’s just in his boxers and Kent grabbing a pair of of pyjama bottoms from where they’re folded on his pillow. He leaves to change, and Tater uses the time to pick up his shirt, fold up his clothes because he thinks Kent would appreciate the neatness. He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns off his usual alarm before setting it on the nightstand.

Kent comes back in, and he smiles hesitantly at Tater before walking to the left side of his bed and slipping under the covers. “You can um, you can come in,” he says, after Tater, waiting for permission, doesn’t move.

Tater climbs in carefully, eases down next to Kent, who clicks off the lamp before rolling over onto his side to face him. “Hey, is this… is this okay? That we’re… that I couldn’t--”

Tater reaches out to take Kent’s hand. “Of course. Of course is okay.”

But even as Kent drifts off, hand going lax in Tater’s own, it’s a long time before he’s able to fall asleep himself.

  


\--

  


Tater wakes up in increments. His arm is tingling, and he opens his eyes to a spill of blond hair, Kent’s head resting on his chest just underneath Tater’s chin. They’re curled around each other, much, much closer than they were when they fell asleep.

Tater clenches and unclenches his hand to try to wake up his arm without disturbing Kent, perfectly content to just lay there with him. He drifts for a little while longer, until Kent lets out a quiet sound and presses up on Tater’s chest, peering down at him. Tater swallows, taking him in. The morning sun is haloing his hair, and he looks--

He looks so beautiful. 

“You’re here,” Kent says sleepily.

Tater smiles. “Asked me to stay.”

Kent lowers himself back down and nuzzles into Tater, and Tater laughs softly, holding him. Kent still reminds him of a cat.

“What’s funny?” Kent mumbles, sounding like he’s still not all the way awake.

Tater pets his back soothingly. “Shh, is nothing.”

“Mmkay.”

They stay like that until Tater can’t ignore his bladder any longer, and he shifts. “Bathroom?” he asks.

“First door on the right,” Kent says, rolling away from Tater and burying himself underneath the covers. Tater presses a kiss to his bared shoulder and goes.

He uses the bathroom, washes his hands, uses some toothpaste on his finger to feel a little cleaner, rinses out his mouth. When he gets back, Kent is sitting up in bed under the covers, yawning, hair a mess. 

Tater loves him.

“Oh hey,” Kent says, when Tater comes back into the room. “You left.”

“Sorry.”

“It was cold,” Kent says pitifully.

Tater chuckles. “Sorry,” he says again.

Kent considers him. “You should come back in,” he decides, and he lifts up the corner of the comforter.

Tater has absolutely nothing to do today, and he is happy to oblige. Besides, it’s still early, yet. 

Kent immediately pushes into his arms, sliding into Tater’s lap to do so, and it is quickly becoming one of Tater’s favorite positions, a lapful of Kent, even if he has to consciously keep his hips still.

Kent looks up, searching Tater’s face, and he must like whatever he finds, because he kisses underneath Tater’s jaw before nipping lightly. Tater shudders, bringing up one hand to stroke over the hickey he left on Kent’s neck last night. It looks good there. Like Kent is his.

Kent closes his eyes and tilts his head in invitation, and Tater eagerly leans forward to press a kiss to that spot before catching Kent’s mouth.

They make out lazily for several minutes until there is a whine from outside the door.

“Kit,” Kent says, pulling back. He’s smiling. “Probably we should get up. She’s my timer for everything else.”

He doesn't make any reference to last night, so Tater doesn't plan to either.

  
  


\--

  


Tater pulls his clothes back on while Kent uses the bathroom himself, though Kent stays in his pajamas as he walks into his kitchen, Tater trailing after him. 

“I usually have breakfast after I take care of everyone,” Kent tells him, as he bends down to check the levels in Kit’s puzzle feeder, changes the water in her fountain. “But if you want--”

“Is fine,” Tater says quickly. “Take care of cats. And then… I’m take you out?”

Kent smiles. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Kent wasn’t kidding when he said before that he sometimes rolls out of bed and goes to work, because he heads downstairs still shirtless and barefoot, paying attention to each of the cats that are milling around in the back room and refilling puzzle feeders and water fountains. “I usually clean up the place in the afternoons,” he tells Tater, “and that’s usually when my volunteers come over too.”

“When is time for you to actually take break from here?” Tater asks.

Kent shrugs. “In between.” And then he smiles again. “I go out with you, don’t I?”

Yes, Tater realizes, he does. And he has been making the time to do so, even with his schedule, all his responsibilities.

He has to go up behind Kent, wrap his arms around him, kiss the back of his neck, and Kent shudders against him.

“Stop that,” he says, but the tone is playful. Tater lets him go anyway, just in case.

Kent turns to press a kiss to Tater’s mouth before he pulls back. “The cats got their breakfast. Think it’s time for ours, yeah?”

“Yes. What you are want?”

“Pancakes,” Kent says immediately, as he leads Tater back up the stairs to his place. “Lemme just get dressed.”

They go out to a diner for pancakes, and Kent dithers over whether or not he wants chocolate chip or blueberry, so Tater orders one plate and Kent gets the other and they give each other half. Kent tells Tater’s his plans for the day, which are mostly cleaning up the back room and letting in his volunteers for brushings while Kent goes over his books.

“Do it  _ all _ yourself?” Tater asks, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Well yeah,” Kent says. “It’s what I went to school for, remember? Business and accounting.”

Tater remembers, had asked Kent about it when the topic had come up. Kent had gotten quiet for a little while, and then had told Tater about getting into community college. He’d talked about getting some scholarships and working two jobs besides, taking night classes so he could manage it all.

“The last thing I wanted was debt,” Kent had explained. “I knew I’d never get out of it, if I went into that pit. Community college is really what saved me. In, um, in more ways than one. I hate that so many people knock it, like I’m less for having needed it.”

Kent is so strong. Tater keeps discovering that over and over. 

“Still,” he ends up saying. “Is a lot to do all yourself.”

Kent shrugs. “It’s not really a big deal. It’s just, you know, what I do. And besides,” he adds, “I love it. I really love it. That helps. Even if the place eats up all my free time.”

“Glad you spend time with me too,” Tater says. “So busy, still take time for me.”

Kent grins. “It helps that you practically live at Kit-den now.”

“So mean!”

“I’m just stating facts. You were over all the time even with your game schedule. Now that the season’s over I’m expecting you to move in.”

Tater makes a show of considering this. “Maybe. Get food delivered to cafe, spend all time with cats. Nice idea.”

Kent rolls his eyes.

“I’m buy cafe many thing,” Tater continues. “Maybe needs couch. Good for sleeping on.”

Kent stares at him. “Don’t you dare,” he says at last. “The last thing the cafe needs is a couch. Do you know how much effort it would take to keep that thing clean?”

“Leather couch,” Tater grins. “Easy, wipe-down, no cat hair.”

“It’d get scratched to kingdom come.”

Tater waves a hand. “So I’m will buy new one.”

“We--no, we are not actually discussing you buying my cafe a couch.”

“But Kent--”

“Absolutely not.”

Tater pushes out his lower lip.

“Don’t pout,” Kent says, poking at his pancakes. “It’s not cute.”

He grins and leans forward. “So you think I’m cute when I’m not pout?”

“Oh my god, why do I like you.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three weeks that Tater plans to spend in Russia comes up fast, and soon enough Kent’s driving him up to the airport and they’re saying goodbye at the departures section.

Tater falls into a new rhythm for his usual off-season time. He gets up, exercises, goes to practice, runs errands, spends time with his team, and spends time with Kent. He usually goes over to Kit-den after closing, either eating in with Kent, or taking him out to dinner. After, they often go to Kent’s apartment, Kit curling around their feet as they watch movies together, talk, play card games that Kent insists Tater learn. Tater sleeps over several more times, curling up with Kent underneath his covers, following after him as he sets about getting ready for his day.

There are numerous kisses and little touches. Sometimes bigger ones, when they’re alone together, when Kent feels comfortable. He lets Tater skirt his fingers up and down his bare torso, kiss along his collarbone, and seems eager to pay Tater the same attention. But he also shies away from certain things, and Tater tries his best to learn what those are.

He hates himself when he makes mistakes, when he somehow reminds Kent of what had happened, whatever had been done to to him. Kent assures Tater that he’s okay, asks for–for _forgiveness_ for his reactions, and that almost makes things worse. All Tater can do is vow to be better, to be more careful.

One night, in the dark, Kent quietly apologizes that he can’t do more for him. How guilty he feels that he gets Tater hard and then can’t follow through.That he can’t let Tater care of _him_ , even if that’s something Tater wants. That the stupidest things can set him off.

“Not stupid,” Tater murmurs, words he will tell Kent until the end of time if necessary. “Never stupid.”

 

–

 

The three weeks that Tater plans to spend in Russia comes up fast, and soon enough Kent’s driving him up to the airport and they’re saying goodbye at the departures section.

“Wish you’re come with me,” Tater says again, as they kiss goodbye. He doesn’t want to leave Kent, wants to show him around Russia, take him to proper ballet, introduce him to his family personally and not just through skype.

“Next time,” Kent promises. “I–next time. I’ll actually get sitters to come over and take care of everything, I’ll close the cafe and–we’ll figure it out.”

They kiss one last time and then Tater grabs up his suitcase and heads through the double doors into the airport.

His phone buzzes after he gets through security.

_I’ll miss you._

_I’ll miss you too,_ he texts back.

He types out _I love you,_ and then immediately deletes it. When he gets back, he promises himself.

 

–

 

Russia is the same as it’s always been. Tater enjoys spending time with his family, eating the foods he never is able to get right back in the States, and catching up with old friends. But he misses Kent every day, and it’s that, above everything else, that reinforces how much he loves him.

The time difference is too great for them to really manage regular skype times, not with Kent’s cafe and Tater’s schedule, but Kent starts setting aside time at eight every morning for a phone call, and Tater answers religiously at four o’clock, no matter where he is. Even if they are only able to talk for a few minutes, it’s something. And they continue to text all the time.

Still, Kent coming around the side of his car to meet him–he’s the best thing Tater’s ever seen.

“Tater–” Kent sounds indignant, but he’s laughing, “Tater, put me down!”

Tater kisses him again before he does, and then he’s putting his suitcase into Kent’s trunk and sliding into the passenger seat.

“You’ve gotta be exhausted,” Kent says, as they drive. “Do you want me to take you straight home so you can go to bed, or do you want to get lunch?”

“Food,” Tater says. “Need to stay awake now, get over jet lag.”

“Alright.”

Kent drives to the Indian place that they both frequent now, and he spends the time asking Tater questions about Russia, making Tater pull out his phone and show off pictures that Tater hasn’t already sent to him. It’s enough that Tater is riding a high when they’re done, and he knows he’s going to crash hard tonight, but that’ll be a good thing.

“I’ve got the rest of the day,” Kent says. It’s late Monday afternoon. “Now what?”

“What about cats? Cafe?”

“Already taken care of. I just made sure to get everything done before I picked you up.”

_I love you,_ Tater doesn’t say. Not quite yet. He doesn’t know if Kent is ready. “Would like to go home,” he says. “Shower, change clothes.”

“Alright, sure.”

Kent drives them to Tater’s place. It’s only the third time Kent’s been over, because Tater usually meets Kent at the cafe and from there they go up to Kent’s apartment. But it’s nice, having Kent in his space. He’s got a big house, enough room for when family and friends come to visit, and it only gets brighter when Kent’s there.

He leaves Kent downstairs to go dump out his suitcase, take a shower and clean off the airplane and recycled air. When he comes back down fifteen minutes later, Kent is curled up on Tater’s living room couch, watching a rerun episode of Cupcake Wars.

“Think I should see if Bitty’s willing to make cupcakes for the cafe?” Kent sells both pies and muffins now, one flavor of the former and two of the latter, and they change almost daily; whatever Bitty feels like making.

“Think Jack might get jealous, you using all Bitty’s time for baking,” Tater says, sitting next to Kent on the couch and draping one arm around his shoulders.

“It’s not like Bitty doesn’t use all his time for baking anyway,” Kent says, pressing himself in closer.

“True.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Kent says after a while. “I really missed you.”

“I’m miss you too.” Tater kisses the top of his head. “Very much.”

“Hey, um–”

“Yes?”

Kent shifts underneath Tater’s arm. “Are you sure you’re not tired?”

“Not very,” Tater says honestly. It’s about ten pm for him, which isn’t too late, and he’d napped a little on the plane; first class was very good for some things. At this point between taking that shower, seeing Kent again, he’s more keyed up over anything else. “Why?”

Kent puts a hand on Tater’s chest and deliberately tilts his head up, offering.

The airport kisses had been light, quick little things, and it’s been far too long since he’s had Kent in his arms. He cups Kent’s cheek in one hand, watches his eyes slide shut as Tater leans down to catch his mouth for a long, slow kiss.

Kent goes easily when Tater pulls him into his lap, hands on Tater’s shoulders as his own hand moves to rest on Kent’s hip, the other coming up to settle in the small of his back. They continue to kiss, languid and messy, Tater clutching Kent tightly, taking him in.

Kent lets out a tiny noise, high and thready, as Tater moves to suck underneath his jaw. His hands fist in Tater’s shirt, and he rolls his hips once, twice, before he stills, breath hitching.

“Kent?” Tater asks, pausing.

Kent eyes are tracking fast. “A-Alexei–”

Tater kisses his cheek. “Anything you want,” he murmurs against Kent’s skin.

“I–I–”

“Tell me,” Tater coaxes, in between pressing kisses everywhere he can reach. “Please, Kent, tell me?”

“T-touch me,” Kent gasps, “Please, if–if it’s okay, if you want–”

“I’m always want,” Tater tells him softly, moving the hand on Kent’s hip until his fingers just dip underneath the waistband of his shorts, thumb resting on Kent’s inner thigh. “This okay?”

Kent whimpers and nods, eyes squeezed shut, but he isn’t tense, and he’s curving his body in towards Tater instead of away. Tater swallows, pops the button on Kent’s shorts, slides the zipper down.

“Still okay?”

“If–if you’re sure–if you want to–”

“I’m want what you want,” Tater whispers. “Want to make you feel good, if you let me.” He slides his hand into Kent’s briefs, then checks again. “Okay?”

Kent hitches a sob, trying to move closer. _“Please.”_ And that’s all the encouragement Tater needs.

Kent comes with a gasp, then slumps forward and presses his face into Tater’s neck, shaking. Tater breathes and breathes and just holds him, ignoring his own arousal. Marvels at what Kent just gave him. And then he feels tentative fingers at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Don’t have to,” he says quickly. Because it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if Kent’s not ready for that. “Is fine.”

But Kent leans back to look at Tater, to swallow and bite his lip and quietly say, “I–I want to.”

“Sure?” Tater manages.

Kent nods, looking determined, and then he licks his palm. Tater stops breathing as he watches Kent tug at his waistband and then reach further down, letting out a strangled cry when Kent wraps a hand around him. He lets go of Kent to clutch at the couch cushions, trying desperately to keep himself still, to stay at Kent’s pace, as Kent starts to move.

It’s quick, because he’s had a long time to get wound up, and now–now actually getting this with Kent, that Kent is willing to touch him, wants to touch him–it’s those thoughts that send Tater over the edge.

He’s trembling and breathing hard when Kent removes his hand, and he catches Kent’s wrist, seized with need.

“Alexei?” Kent asks, hesitantly.

In answer, Tater brings Kent’s hand to his mouth and licks it free of come, sucking Kent’s fingers into his mouth. Kent exhales shakily and doesn’t pull away, letting Tater taste himself on Kent’s fingers.

Eventually Tater moves from Kent’s hand to kiss up his arm, higher and higher until he’s pulling at the neck of Kent’s T-shirt to nose at the jut of his collarbone. He feels careful fingers thread through his hair and then hears Kent moan.

He sets about doing his best to keep Kent making that sound.

 

–

 

“I thought about it a lot,” Kent tells him quietly, tucked in against Tater’s chest. “While you were gone. Psyched myself up, you know?”

“Kent–”

“No, I–I wanted to. I really did. It was…taking something back, you know? That I could do anything with, um, with someone else. And I’m glad that–it was with you.”

Tater swallows, throat dry. “I’m so happy,” he manages, “That you’re comfortable. That you… that you are trusting me.”

Kent goes silent for a long time, and then he says, “I trust you probably more than I’ve trusted anyone.”

 

–

 

“Stay?” Tater asks, much later. After drowsing (even though he wasn’t supposed to) with Kent, a trip to the grocery store (“My stocker is come tomorrow!” “Well they’re not here _now_ are they?”), an early dinner, and many, many touches in between. He’s swaying on his feet, but he can’t imagine going to bed that night without Kent next to him.

“Okay,” Kent says. “Yeah, okay.”

 

–

 

He wakes up at three in the morning, because his internal clock is still going to be messed up for a couple days no matter what he does. He decides to slip out of bed for a glass of water and, when he comes back, stops to just take Kent in.

He’s on his side, head and arm just peeking out from under the covers, and he looks like he belongs. In Tater’s bed, in his life.

Tomorrow (today) is a Tuesday, so the cafe opens at eleven, which means he and Kent will have time for a nice morning. Have breakfast together, and Tater can watch Kent wander around in his borrowed T-shirt; one of Tater’s favorites, soft from many washings and a neck that’s slightly stretched out.

He slides back into bed next to Kent and sucks in a happy breath when Kent, in his sleep, pushes a little closer.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater stares down at his phone. On the one hand, he wants to respect Kent’s privacy and his wishes. On the other hand, he had sounded really upset, and Tater wants to be there for him. He doesn’t know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Usage of homophobic slurs

Tater is finishing up a workout one Friday morning when he gets a call from Kent.

“Kent! Miss my voice?”

“Yeah, um,” and Kent sounds hesitant. Tater is instantly on alert. “I just wanted to let you know that Kit-den is closed for the weekend. And um, maybe you shouldn’t come by for a couple of days.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Um. Just… just don’t come by. Maybe-maybe tomorrow. I’ll call you okay?”

“Kent–”

“I have a lot I need to do. I’ll call you later.” Kent hangs up.

Tater stares down at his phone. On the one hand, he wants to respect Kent’s privacy and his wishes. On the other hand, he had sounded really upset, and Tater wants to be there for him. He doesn’t know what to do.

So he calls Jack.

“Tater,” Jack says, upon picking up. “Hey, we’ll be there in a few minutes, okay? Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’re just picking up the cleaners now–”

“Jack,” Tater interrupts, “What is going on?”

There is a pause. “…Kent didn’t tell you?”

Tater feels his stomach drop. “Call me, tell me stay away from cafe. Won’t say what is wrong. What _happened?”_

“I’ll, uh. I’m going to send you a picture.”

“Picture?”

“Yeah just…just hold on.” Jack hangs up. A minute later, Tater’s phone buzzes.

He opens the attachment and his vision goes red.

It’s a picture of Kit-den. And painted over the windows is _fuck off, faggot_ and _Mashkov doesn’t need your pussy._

He calls Jack back immediately, but finds himself having a hard time holding onto his English. After letting out a string of Russian swears, Jack interrupts him.

“Tater, try to breathe. A bunch of Kent’s volunteers are over at the cafe and we’re all going to help him clean off the paint. A couple hours and it’ll be gone.”

But the words will still be in Kent’s head, Tater thinks darkly. “He’s not want me to know. Why?”

Jack sighs. “I don’t know, Tater. But I’m guessing he didn’t want you to feel like you were responsible. For what happened. Are you going to come by?”

Tater grits his teeth. “Kent say he want me to not be there. Please… please take care of him.” Kent said he’d call. He’ll wait for Kent to call.

And in the meantime, Tater can talk to George.

 

–

 

Tater tries to keep himself busy. George is sympathetic and helps him work with PR to release several very strongly-worded statements about how hate crimes are not something he accepts from anyone, certainly not fans.

_You say you like me, yet you act so badly. Don’t cheer for me. I don’t want your cheers._

As well as tweeting, _You have problem with my choices, meet me on the ice_ which is not PR approved, but Tater doesn’t care.

He also posts the close-up video clip of him breaking Karlsson’s nose, because he’s still furious and he might be in the mood to threaten other people.

Then he grabs a stick and goes to town with a boatload of rainbow tape.

Eventually he works up the courage to text Kent. _I’m know what happen. Sorry, Jack tell me. Will still stay away if you want but I’m rather be with you. Please._

And he gets a reply about half an hour later. Paint’s gone. _Place is still closed for the weekend. Worried about the cats, so I’m staying here. You can come by if you want._

Tater grabs his keys and hustles to his car.

 

–

 

The windows are clean when Tater gets to Kit-den, and the sense of relief is so palpable he has to steady himself for a second. The lights are off in the cafe and, for the first time, Tater can’t see any of the cats playing around in the main area.

Frowning, Tater walks around to the back entrance and texts Kent that he’s here. The door opens a moment later.

“Hey,” Kent says, sounding so tired. Tater’s heart aches. “Come on in.”

Tater follows him inside and then to the backroom of the cafe, since that’s where Kent goes.

All the cats are in their plexiglass cages, which Tater has never seen before. Kent usually lets them use the whole of the space, and has only caged cats that were sick or otherwise needed to be removed from the cafe for a little while.

“What–”

“In case whoever did it comes back,” Kent says. “The cats might be a target. I already called the police and filed a report. They’re going to patrol the area for a couple days. It’d probably be better if we were open, to be honest, since crowds would help, uh, keep haters away, but I um. I couldn’t be open right now.”

“What are you need?” Tater asks.

Kent lowers his eyes to the floor. “Um. I… I could maybe use a hug.”

Tater steps forward and gathers him up immediately, and Kent buries his face in Tater’s shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says. “I just–I didn’t–”

“Is okay. Is okay.”

“Fucking jocks.”

“Yes,” Tater agrees, holding on tight.

 

–

 

Kent’s plans for the rest of the weekend are pretty much to barricade himself inside the cafe, check on the cats and the downstairs periodically, and otherwise not leave his apartment. He’s obviously shaken and Tater completely understands.

He goes home to pack a weekend bag and returns to find Kent on his couch, staring at something on his phone. When Tater sets his duffle down and comes closer, Kent turns the screen so Tater can see what he was looking at.

It’s the improvised selfie shoot he did with as much rainbow as he could find. And he’d had plenty of stuff left over from the last pride he’d participated in, on top of what he’d gone out specifically to get.

“You didn’t have to,” Kent says. While Tater hadn’t done anything to hide, he and Kent hadn’t really done anything super public either. But. “I–you’re going to be a target now. Jack is.”

Tater shrugs. “They hit me, I hit them back.” And as soon as it leaves his mouth he realizes it was the wrong thing to say, because Kent hunches over, drops his gaze.

“Sorry,” Tater says quietly, taking a step forward. “I’m–I’m not mean–”

“It’s fine.” He watches Kent swallow. “I get it. It’s part of the sport. It’s fucking–” he stops, glares at the floor.

“Kent…”

“I just–you didn’t have to! You didn’t have to put a target on your back just because of me. They fucking hit hard, I know they do. I wouldn’t stop loving you if–” his eyes widen as he cuts himself off with a curse.

Tater freezes where he stands. “You love me?”

“Forget it,” Kent says immediately, turning away. “Forget it, sorry, I–”

Tater’s crouching in front of him before he can think, carefully reaching forward to take Kent’s hands. “Kent,” he says, “Means so much to hear you say. I’m love you too.”

Kent’s eyes track back and forth, and he looks like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. “You… you do?”

“So much, Kent.” Tater kisses his knuckles. “Love you so much. Been… been wanting to say it for many weeks now. Since before I leave for Russia. Since I sleep over for first time.”

“…but that was forever ago.”

Tater shrugs. “Not want to say to you before you’re ready to hear.”

Kent tugs on his hands until Tater moves to sit next to him on the couch, and then Kent presses against him, hiding his face in Tater’s side. Tater can feel him shake.

Tater moves to curl an arm around Kent’s back. “Okay?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yes, yeah, I–I just… “ his voice cracks.

“Kent?”

Kent keeps his face hidden, and his words are muffled. “Sorry, it’s just. You’re–you’re so great. You’re so great. Of course I love you. I just. I don’t get why you love me back. I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Kent,” Tater says, gentle but firm, “You were yourself. Was all I’m need.”

“Fuck,” Kent whispers, “How are you so perfect.”

Tater strokes his back. “Not perfect. No one is perfect. But I am very lucky.”

There is a pause and then Kent says, voice wet, “If this were some stupid blockbuster I’d be throwing myself at you right now, but I can’t stop thinking about that fucking–about how I’m ruining you or some shit.”

Tater keeps his touches light, his voice soft. “Couldn’t ruin me if you try. My choice, to love you. To want be with you. They are full of shit.” He tries for a smile knowing it’ll come through in his voice, “Also they’re not know is me who seduces you.”

It gets the desired response, because Kent lets out a little huff of a laugh. “What?”

“Oh yes. I‘m one who come everyday, talk to pretty barista, give him my tip money to make him smile, talk more, find out who is pretty cafe owner, such good businessman! Still pretty, maybe not so much happy with me giving so many things, but still takes when I ask, still talks to me–”

“Oh my god,” Kent has pulled away, lips quirking. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Tater shakes his head. “No, no, and then I make him sad so I try to be good, stay away, but I’m not want, can’t, already like him so much, want so much for him to like me. He gives me second chance and needs cheering up so I’m think yes, good idea will bring many thing for his cats, since he loves them so much, maybe he will like me even little bit half as much–”

“Okay, okay, oh my god–”

“No, no, I’m have more to say. Because I give him many thing and it makes him smile, and I’m so happy to see him smile, think he might like me and then… and then I’m play my games and he says he watches them sometimes. For me. And then I’m know he really must like me, because I’m know how hard that is for him to do.” Kent is silent now, staring up at him with wide eyes, as Tater continues, quietly. “And then I ask to kiss him. And he’s say yes. But is still too much for me to ask, so I wait. And he kiss me. And I’m so happy then. I spend so much time liking him and hoping, and then here he is this… kind man, so kind even if pretending he’s not, and then… and then today he’s say he loves me.” He has to swallow then, at being able to voice that, to say it out loud. Kent loves him. “So yes,” he finishes. “I’m very lucky.”

He watches Kent swallow. “I want to kiss you,” he says, staring at Tater’s knees.

“Can if you want,” Tater says easily, without moving. “I’m would like. But is also okay if you want but can’t.”

Kent shakes his head, frowning. “No, screw them. They don’t get to make me–feel. Come here.”

Tater happily obliges.

 

–

 

That night, after Kent comes up stairs from a last check over of the cats in the cafe, he goggles over the outpouring of love Kit-den has received since the morning. He can’t watch the news report (and had declined questions; Jack and Bitty and some of his volunteers had been happy to take them instead) but his social media has blown up, primarily with good wishes and positive messages, and the donation page on his website has been making the rounds too.

He’s tucked up against Tater on the couch and scrolling through his twitter feed, occasionally tilting up his screen so Tater can better see what’s on it. Kit’s curled up on Kent’s lap, within reach so that Tater can pet her too,

“I might have to open tomorrow after all,” he says in disbelief. “A lot of people want to come down and show their support?”

“Good. But only open if you can.”

“Yeah, um.” Kent licks his lips. “I think I might be okay.”

“Good,” Tater says again.

Kent stares down at his phone before he turns off the screen. “You want to get ready for bed?”

Tater nods.

By now it’s a routine. They go to get changed, and then head to Kent’s bathroom. Tater has a toothbrush that lives there now, and they get ready side by side –or start to–Kent tends to wander around while he brushes his teeth.

In Kent’s bedroom, Kent takes the left side and Tater takes the right. There is always that first minute or so where Kent has to re-adjust and acclimate to someone else in his bed, but then he’s moving towards the middle, towards Tater. He rolls over on his side, back to Tater, and Tater takes the invitation to wrap around him from behind.

Kent sighs in his arms. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “I’m um. I’m still a little shaken up. I think I… I need you close, if that’s okay.”

“Of course is okay.”

“Maybe… maybe for a couple of days or something. If that’s–”

“Kent, said it was okay. Is okay. I’m want be with you always.” He presses a kiss to Kent’s hair. “Love you.” He thrills at being able to say that now.

Kent shudders. “…Say it again?”

Tater smiles into the dark. He likes having permission to say it more. “I’m love you. Love you so much.”

“I-I love you too.”

Hearing it, Tater feels on top of the world.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See you ‘round,” Bitty calls cheerfully. He looks like he intends to stick around a while, and Tater’s glad for it, that Kent has people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so it has been some ride, eh guys?Thank you so, so much for all your comments on this story. Comments mean a lot to me and they are so wonderful to read. Hope you guys enjoyed reading this story ad much as I enjoyed writing it. Though whoa, we sort of deviated from only being about cat puns, huh?

Saturday is usually his recovery and regeneration day, but since he skipped his Friday plans for press and to be with Kent, he has to go in for training. He does forgo his morning run though, so he can wake up with Kent and keep him company while he gets ready for his cafe to open at noon.

Kent is more subdued than usual, cuddling Kit and then getting fully ready for the day, breakfast and everything, before he goes downstairs.

“I’m gonna spend all day downstairs just um, just in case. Wanna keep the cats in my sight, you know?”

Tater aches for him, wishes he could offer more, that he could stay longer, but in the end all he can do is help let the cats out (and some of them are clearly disgruntled about being “locked up” for the night), take down the chairs with Kent, watch as he starts to turn on all his machines.

Around ten, Kent’s phone rings, and he jumps. He looks relieved when he sees who’s calling. “Hey Bits, you here? ...okay, thanks, I’ll come around back to help you unload.” Then he looks up at Tater. “Bitty’s brought by his baked goods by.” His lips quirk. “Try saying that five times fast. Wanna help us bring em in?”

“Of course.”

They unload the pie and muffins (apple, banana nut, and blueberry this time, a  _ lot _ of blueberry, and Tater remembers that it’s Kent’s favorite). And then it’s time for Tater to leave.

“Work hard,” Kent says, squeezing Tater’s hand. He’s not really one for public affection, airport kisses aside. “See you soon?”

“I’m come over when I’m done. Then rest of day with you, then dinner together. Okay?”

Kent smiles. “Sounds good.”

Tater says goodbye to Bitty, who’s on the floor, arm outstretched, next to Dusty, a shy ragdoll who is very carefully batting at his fingers.

“See you ‘round,” Bitty calls cheerfully. He looks like he intends to stick around a while, and Tater’s glad for it, that Kent has people.

 

-

 

He does work hard, pushing himself like he always does. This is more than his job, it’s what he loves to do, and he always could stand to get better. When he breaks to wolf down massive amounts of lunch, he also takes the time to text Kent.

He gets a reply fifteen minutes later.  _ Sorry, we’re totally mobbed. One of my volunteers is running register while Bitty and I make all the drinks. We’ve adopted out two cats. I don’t have any seating left. People are sitting on the floor or ordering drinks to go. _

_ I’m glad, _ Tater texts back.  _ Busy is good. Talk to you soon. Love you. _

And then, just as he’s about to get ready for to his PM warm-up, he gets back  _ Love you too. _

 

-

 

Kent basically collapses into Tater’s arms when he shows up at six, after he’d finished his training and managed another meal. The cafe is still packed, and Kent pulls back a second later and clears his throat. “Gotta get back to work,” he says, indicating the line at the counter. Bitty is grinning while he finishes up some coffee order. “Feel free to try to find a seat, or just go in the back or up to my place.”

“No, I stay and help,” Tater insists. “When is last time you do rounds?”

“Ffffgod like two hours ago.”

“Okay, okay, I’m do.” Tater goes to check the bathrooms to see if they need toilet paper or towel refills, cleans up what paper there is on the floor and wipes down the sinks. Then he gets started on the dirty dishes and utensils that are piled up in the used bin, carefully arranging what fits in the dishwasher. He puts them away once they’re done and loads the washer again, trying to be mindful of the amount of space there is behind the counter. Three people plus Tater is about two people too many, but he stays out of the way as best he can.

He spends the rest of his time bussing tables, signing the occasional autograph or posing for a selfie, and making sure the cats are all happy and comfortable. The next two hours pass quickly just because of how busy everything is, and when the place finally empties at half past eight, Kent and Bitty both sag, while the volunteer (Tater should really get her name. And then make sure she gets a lot of money) starts to close down the machines.

After a few minutes, Kent pushes up out of his chair. “I got it Lardo, thanks. Go home. Just… grab half of what’s in the tip jar and I’ll figure out payment for today later.”

Lardo (and Tater recalls that name; her cat-themed artwork decorates part of the cafe) shrugs. “It’s cool, man. Glad to help out. You know. Gotta take care of the cats.”

Kent gives her a tired smile. “Right. But I’m paying you anyway. Go eat dinner.”

“Night.”

She leaves, and Kent sighs. “Tater, could you order… anything. Just lots of it.” He goes behind the counter and pulls out three muffins, two banana-nut and one blueberry, the latter he keeps for himself. “Been saving these all day. We sold out of all the baked goods, and a bunch of my bottled drinks. I was too busy to restock.” He puts the other muffins on two plates and holds them out to Bitty and Tater, before starting to clean up the counter.

Tater looks to Bitty, who is slumped in a chair with his eyes closed. “How was it?”

“Lord,” Bitty mumbles. “Give me youtube any day. I haven’t sat down for hours. And Kent skipped lunch. Food please.”

Tater orders, eats his muffin, and then goes out to get everything in lieu of waiting for delivery. By the time he gets back, Kent is sweeping up, looking dead on his feet, and Bitty looks like he’s fallen asleep, Dusty curled up in his lap.

Tater quietly unpacks all the food and sets it down on one of the tables, then gently takes Kent’s broom and steers him towards a seat. Bitty perks up at the smell of food and comes over too. Tater takes it upon himself to finish sweeping up while the two start to demolish dinner.

For a while there’s no talking, but then Kent, out of the blue asks Bitty, “Jack okay?”

Bitty nods. “Sent me a text a while ago apologizing that he had to leave. I told him he just better be waiting to give me a massage when I get home.”

“Apologize?” Tater asks.

Kent shrugs. “He came in to help too, but the crowds were too much for his anxiety. But it’s cool. Lardo was already here, came for a drink and to show support, so I just pressed her into service. I gotta make sure I actually make her take money.”

“Lots of people to show support,” Tater smiles.

Kent smiles back at him, tired but happy. “Yeah. It. It was nice.”

 

-

 

Bitty says goodnight soon after they’re all done eating, and Tater cleans up and takes out the trash before herding Kent upstairs.

He takes him straight to the bedroom and makes sure he changes into his pajama bottoms, changing with him, then they go to brush their teeth. Kent pretty much faceplants on his bed when they’re done.

Tater chuckles, stroking a hand down his back. “Was good day, yes?”

“No,” Kent mutters, voice muffled. “It was awful. I never wanna be that busy again. If I am, I might have to hire  _ help.” _

Tater presses a kiss to the back of his neck, before starting to rub at Kent’s shoulders. A massage does sound like a good idea, thanks Bitty. “Help would be good,” he says quietly after a moment. “Not bad, more people to help.”

Kent sighs under Tater’s hands. “I… no. I guess… I guess maybe not.”

 

-

 

The next morning  _ is _ a rest and regeneration day for Tater, and though he has a hospital visit from one to three (realistically til four, he usually can’t help but stay longer), the world is his oyster aside from that.

He carefully gets out of bed to go on his morning run, checks on Kit when he gets back, and grabs a shower before Kent starts to stir. Tater pads back into the bedroom, sitting down on top of the blankets. “Morning.”

Kent blinks sleepily at him. “Morning.”

“Ready for new day?”

“Mm-hm.” He stretches and then reaches for Tater, pressing up against him. “I think it’ll be a good day,” he says quietly.

Tater smiles, ducks down to drop a kiss to Kent’s temple. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [justwritins](http://justwritins.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and I'm total cp trash right now. Come say hi!  
> 


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